


The Devil’s in the Details

by moodycactus



Series: The Imposter & The Remedy [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bottom Fitz, Bottom Ward, Grant Ward Redemption, Kidnapping, Leo Fitz-centric, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodycactus/pseuds/moodycactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic takes place after Ward’s escape, only he returns to collect Fitz. He claims he wants to ‘fix’ Fitz but can Fitz trust him? Fitz gets caught up in Ward’s plan and Ward gets more than he bargained for.  Describe the fic without spoilers: Like an ep of “White Collar/Burn Notice” with a dash of the film “Shame”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr Bad Guy

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after S2,ep7 of AoS and diverts from canon after that. Ward’s been on the run for about a month and Mind!Simmons has left Fitz alone. For ease of writing, this Fitz has trouble expressing bigger words/concepts. His brain has started to heal so he can manage normal conversation. As this is told from Fitz’s POV, the spelling is British English and terms, not American. :P

“Oh, sure thing,” Fitz muttered to himself as he wandered barefoot down the empty base. “Everyone just head on out together to finally nab Hydra boss and leave me the oh-so dangerous task of accepting the delivery.” He barely checked the security cam before shoving open the door. “Don’t worry guys, I can handle these dangerous cleaning supplies. Twats!” 

The provisions delivery van was a familiar sight, arriving early in the morning, once a month. Fitz didn’t even bother changing out of his makeshift pj’s, which was old sweat pants and tee shirt. He gave a brief smile to the delivery man. “Carlos,” he said, with a slight nod at the usual delivery man. Maybe he should ask Carlos if his company was hiring, since the team obviously thought he was capable of only menial tasks. Fitz couldn’t stand their pitying looks.

He went around to the back of the van, meaning to help Carlos unload it. A tall figure whipped out from the side of the van, gun aimed at Carlos. It was Ward, dressed in worn jeans and a dark jacket.

“Easy now. I don’t want to hurt you, Fitz” said Ward, one of his palms raised. 

Fitz glared at Ward. “Then why you have a bloody gun pointed at us!”

“This isn’t a social call. I need you to come with me.”

“But-” protested Fitz.

“Just get in the car Fitz,” snapped Ward, clearly starting to lose his patience. 

Fitz paused for a moment, debating whether he could dash back inside and seal the doors shut in time. Carlos crossed himself and started praying in a torrent of spanish. Fitz realised he didn’t have a choice. 

Fitz raised his hands up in submission. “Alright, I’ll go with you, just don’t hurt Carlos.”

Ward ignored him, gun focused on Carlos. “Dame tu celular y las llaves. ¡Ahora! ¡Rápidamente!”

Sweating profusely, Carlos handed Ward his mobile phone and keys. Ward bundled the man in the back of the van, and locked him inside. 

“What are you going to do with him?” asked Fitz. 

Ward sighed as he tossed Carlo’s keys and phone away. “Nothing, Fitz. Do you really think I came back here for just a delivery driver?” He ushered Fitz towards another car.

Fitz got in the car, his mind reeling. Just what was Ward up to? He had made his escape just last month, so why did Ward come back for him? It didn’t make any sense.

Ward slipped into the driver’s seat and shot Fitz a glance. “Do I need to cuff you or are you going to behave?”

Fitz glowered at Ward. “Behave?! Why the hell should I? You’re a bloody….um whatsit.” He looked away, feeling his face flush red with embarrassment. Why couldn’t his mind work when he wanted.

Concern filled Ward’s eyes, not that Fitz noticed. He was too busy glaring at his hands. Ward wisely remained silent and started the engine and took off. 

Fitz sat immobile in the passenger seat. He knew what Ward was capable of, even without a gun. His best chance would be to outsmart him, but Fitz didn’t trust his own addled mind. Fitz risked a glance at Ward. He seemed healthy, well rested even, and quite calm, considering the situation. So he was sane enough to look after himself, at least, Fitz mused. The light caught the other man’s profile. God, he was annoyingly handsome.

“Your beard. You shaved it off,” blurted Fitz.

“Well spotted Fitz,” Ward dryly replied, not even taking his eyes off the road.

“Is that to match your new um...you know… that ah,” Fitz exhaled heavily, starting to feel frustrated again. “That whole thing you’re doing now. Left Hydra presents for us and whatnot. No one is buying this rubbish act of yours. You’re a killer, a friggen Nazi.”

Ward turned his full attention on Fitz, ignoring the road. 

“Ward! Focus on the road!” cried Fitz.

Ward’s gaze didn’t leave Fitz. “Do you really think I’m a Nazi?” he asked, his voice alarmingly soft and calm.

“I don’t know what to think. I don’t know who you are anymore. No one does.”

“I wasn’t the only killer on our team. Glasshouses and all that.”

“True,” said Fitz, crossing his arms. “But they didn’t try to murder their friends.”

Silence filled the car. Fitz looked out the window, not wanting to even look at Ward.

Ward took them to a busy shopping mall parking lot, where they swapped cars. Fitz didn’t want to risk some young family ending up collateral damage, there was too many people around to risk running. At least the new car had a radio. He flicked it on. Freddie Mercury’s ‘Mr Bad Guy’ blared out. 

Fitz burst out laughing, but it was a bitter sound. “They’re playing your song!” 

Ward just flicked the radio off and ignored him. 

Fitz fidgeted restlessly. “So, I guessing you had something to do with the screw up today. How else could you know to grab me.”

“Yeah, I knew May and the guys would be at that UN meeting. So I told Whitehall their location to draw the rest of Coulson’s guys out,” said Ward, his tone so casual like he was describing a weekend picnic.

Fitz nearly exploded out of his seat. “You told Hydra where to find them?! They could be-”

“Relax. They can handle it, and at least this way, they have a chance to bag Whitehall and his Hydra goons.” 

“You bastard!” said Fitz, shaking his head.

Ward shrugged. “Just givin them want they want.”

“Oh yeah, sure. Not like you don’t get something you want out of it. You always do. And what is it exactly you want with me?”

“What do you reckon Fitz? That I’m going to use you as a human shield in a gunfight? Get you to help me build bombs to blow up orphanages? Or maybe just build a shrine to Hitler?” asked Ward, his voice unnaturally cool and calm. “You guys really think I’m the Devil, don’t you?”

“Someone certainly thinks highly of himself,” scoffed Fitz. “Ok maybe, say for the sake of argument, you’re not that bad. But what kind of person kidnaps someone without letting them get shoes? Where’s your human decency? I might catch a cold or maybe even tet..t...that um disease, you know.... Anyway, no proper Brit would have let such a thing happen. Shoes are the hallmark of man’s erm….ah...” Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to force his brain back into gear.

“Evolution? Civilisation?” supplied Ward.

“Whatever,” muttered Fitz, turning away to glare out the window. “Just sod it.”

They drove in silence until Ward eventually pulled up at a cheap motel. The kind that took cash, asked no questions and likely had an archaic-to-non-existent security system. Fitz let Ward escort him into a room. He knew attempting to escape was pointless. He’d have to try catch Ward off guard. 

The room itself was fairly basic. Gear and papers cluttered a table, an ensuite bathroom was off to the side, clothes laid out on a double bed. The only bed. Fitz eyed the bed dubiously and then back at Ward. 

Ward rolled his eyes. “Here’s how it’s going to go down. You behave, you get liberties and this is over very quickly. You try to escape - try anything - you lose those liberties, and things won’t be so good for you. Understood?” 

Fitz nodded slowly. 

“Great. Take these and put these on,” said Ward, handing him a bundle of clothes and a pair of shoes. 

“Door stays open,” Ward called out, when Fitz headed to the bathroom and started to close the door. Not that it mattered anyway. The tiny bathroom had no window to try bust an escape or pass out a note. Even if there was a window, the door was paperthin, Ward would hear him anyway. Fitz resigned himself to his captivity and got changed behind the ajar bathroom door.

“Is this some kind of cruel joke?” demanded Fitz when he came back out. He pulled at the ‘I Love NY’ tee in disgust. “I look like a knobhead tourist!”

Ward grinned at him. “No, you don’t.” He dug something out of a bag, a hat with “I Love NY” emblazoned on it and put it on Fitz’s head. “Now you do.”

“You’re beyond rotten,” said Fitz, scowling at the other man. “But at least I have shoes now. So...thanks, for small mercies I guess.” He was impressed Ward had even got his shoe size right. How did he know that?

“Come over here and take a look at this, said Ward nodding at the papers on the table. “Do you know what this is?”

Fitz recognized what it was. It was schematics for a highly complex security alarm system. 

“Thats an automated elastic sequencer - no! Not elastic, an el…” Fitz gripped his head in frustration. Why wouldn’t his brain just cooperate? Just once?

Ward shot him a look, his dark eyes unreadable. “Point is, can you disable it?”

“Course I can,” said Fitz, waving him off. He spotted a floorplan for an old church, nestled in the stash of papers. “Hey what church is that? What are you really up to?”

“That’s St Luke’s. They’ve got a Caravaggio on loan from the Vatican. We’ll take a tour of the church today and you’re going to help me steal it.””

Fitz gaped at Ward, incredulous. “Are you bonkers?! I’m not helping you rob a church and steal this...this...bollocks!” He kicked out at a chair in frustration. 

“We need this if I’m to get you help for your condition. The Vatican isn’t innocent here. Surely you’ve heard how they helped the Nazis redistribute a lot Jewish owned assets during the Holocaust. This was one of them.”

Fitz did vaguely recall hearing about that sort of thing Nazi smuggling money out of Germany and that sort of thing. He wondered if Ward maybe had a point - if he was telling the truth. Maybe robbing a thief wasn’t theft? But how could a stolen masterpiece get them help? 

“I don’t like this,” said Fitz, exhaling deeply.

Ward gave him a sad smile. “The devil’s in the details.”


	2. Playing Tourist

The church tour was a drawn out torture. Ward was acting so strange. He wore a dumb novelty hat and big oversized glasses, and kept stopping to take so many photos and selfies. He permanently had an arm draped over Fitz, acting as though they were a couple sighting seeing, not a kidnapper threatening his captive with a hidden gun.

Ward managed to maneuver them away from the tour group, steering Fitz to the hidden power box, found in a tiny room - a closet really - just outside the gallery.

The sequencer device was the brain centre for all the intensive security measures that protected the gallery. Fitz debated setting it off. He’d have a better chance of escape or alerting Coulson and his team. But a part of him wanted to believe Ward, wanted to give him a chance.

“You certain it was stolen from the Holocaust victims?” he asked Ward, who was crowding close enough to feel his body heat.

“Yes! Now disable it, we’ve only got seven minutes!” urged Ward.

Fitz removed the console’s casing and stared at the mass of blinking lights and wires. “I know this….it’s um…” With Ward’s close proximity and the short timeframe, Fitz felt even more self conscious. He was supposed to be good at this. The Brains was his role.

“What if I just cut this wire, and short it,” said Ward, reaching around Fitz with a blade in his hand.

Fitz slapped Ward’s hand away. “Don’t be daft! It’s obviously the baseline automatic recloser,”he said, tugging out the correct wire. The flashing lights went dead.

Ward grinned at him. A genuine whole-face-lit-up smile.

“Oh, you did that on purpose! You b-”

“Five minutes left,” said Ward, checking his watch. “Move!”

The rest of the heist went without a hitch. Caravaggio in hand, they headed back to their hotel, picking up takeout on the way back. Ward even let Fitz pick which cuisine. 

“I know what you’re doing,” said Fitz when they were back at their room. “Being nice to me in the hope I’ll get St-Stockholder’s Syndrome.”

“You mean Stockholm,” supplied Ward, in between another mouthful of pad thai.

“Whatever! You want me to help you steal more shit so you can bloody fence it!”

Ward arched his brow. “If you believe that, then why did you help today?”

“I don’t know, maybe it had something to do with the gun at my side?” Fitz sighed. “Or I’m a real idiot and giving you a chance?”

Ward avoided eye contact, seeming to take sudden interest in his takeaway box but Fitz spotted the corners of his mouth twitching. 

“Well, I’m not ‘fencing’ the painting. It’s a kind of tribute.” 

“Tribute for what? Ugh, why don’t you just tell me what’s going on? You’re not a spy any more. You don’t have anyone left to answer to.”

Ward’s jaw set to stone. That was obviously the wrong thing to say. “Go rest up, Fitz. I’ve got work to do,” he said, turning on the laptop and promptly ignoring Fitz. 

Fitz ran a hand through his thick hair. He didn’t know what to say. Despite everything that had happened, he felt sorry for the guy.


	3. The Little Death

At some point in the middle of the night, he was dimly aware that Ward joined him in the bed. Which was why Fitz wasn’t too surprised to find a bare-chested Ward half-sprawled over him when he woke. Ward looked so peaceful and weirdly vulnerable in his sleep.

Fitz spotted a mobile on a dresser and stretched out to reach it-

“Morning Fitz,” murmured Ward, snatching Fitz’s hand away from the phone. He yawned and pulled Fitz in close against him. 

“Stop that!” said Fitz, trying to wiggle loose.

“Why? You want this.” Ward started to kiss Fitz’s shoulder, moving to kiss and nuzzle at his neck.

Fitz fought back a moan, but he couldn’t help shivering. “Maybe I used to, but that was back when I looked up to you. Wanted to emul...th-that word.”

Ward gave a little shrug, and his kisses started going south, making Fitz’s pulse thud. “So let me help you fulfill an old fantasy then.”

“You’re not even into guys!” Fitz felt himself start to get aroused and was dangerously losing control.

“I’m into you, at least.”Ward ground his hips into Fitz, pressing his rock hard boner against him. “Evidence enough for you?” whispered Ward. 

He found himself reaching into Ward’s boxers to grasp the man’s cock. It was average sized, smaller than his own sizable length but had a circumcised head that jutted out like a mushroom. Fitz felt a hand wrap around his own erection, playing with the foreskin. A groan escaped his lips. 

Ward proved to be an intense and demanding lover. His hands feverishly explored Fitz’s body, peppering him with kisses. He wanted to nip at Fitz’s nipples while fondling his balls, to rim him while jerking him off. All Fitz could do was lay there and gasp from sensory overload. He’d wanted and fantasized about this moment for so long, he was just stunned that it was actually happening.

Ward was already thrusting into him before it even registered that he wasn’t using a condom. Fitz was too far gone to care, it felt so good. He loved those rough, strong hands grasping at him, the hot wet mouth at his neck. Ward kept shifting them into different positions, determined to find what got the best reaction, all the while forcing Fitz to look at him. Ward made sure Fitz found release first, before letting himself loose, firing his own load, a pooling warmth deep inside Fitz.

Afterwards, they lay side by side, gasping and dripping with sweat.

“La petite mort,” muttered Ward, staring at Fitz with a satisfied grin.

Fitz groaned and covered his face. “I just had sex with the guy that tried to kill me and then kidnapped me. Yeah, I think I’ll want a legit death right now. Thanks.”

“Fitz, if I wanted you and Simmons dead back then, you’d both be dead. Can’t you see I had faith in your ability to escape?”

“Gee, that’s reassuring,” muttered Fitz from beneath his hands. “Why the sudden urge to ravish me? Where the hell did that come from?”

“I don’t know why you regret what just happened. You can’t deny it wasn’t mutually beneficial,” said Ward, a smirk plastered across his face.

Fitz sat up to glare at Ward “Why do you always deflect questions? Can you give a real answer for once?! Can you even be a real person?”

The smirk fell off Ward’s face, quickly replaced by a carefully composed calm veneer. “Right, yeah Fitz, this is was just a dream you were having. A wet dream.”

“Screw you!” cried Fitz, as he gave the other man a shove. “I’m serious. After what you did to me, after being in a friggen coma for nine days, don’t you think I deserve a straight answer? You owe me!”

Ward pursed his lips and exhaled heavily. “Fine. This morning was about giving you wanted. I knew what you didn’t realise months ago.” Fitz frowned at him, confused. “It’s why I’m good at what I do. I know what people want from me. When you know what people want, it makes them easy to manipulate. Not that I’m trying to do that now, with you.” Ward gave a tired sigh. “No more games.”

“Hold up, did you even want to have sex with me?” asked Fitz, starting to feel a knot form in his stomach.

“A boner can’t be faked, man.” Ward caught himself. “Right, real answers. Um, sure, boobs are nice, but I...this sounds crazy, I get off giving others pleasure. With you, I wanted to….I just needed...” Ward suddenly jerked upright, striking out at the bedside lamp. It smashed it to the ground with a thud.

Fitz flinched at the sound of broken glass, but he was unafraid. He placed a tentative hand on Ward’s shoulder. “Wanted to what? After what we just did, in spite everything that’s happened, you know you can trust me. I’m here. Talk to me Grant.”

Ward looked at him with such raw, naked emotion before he quickly looked away. “I wanted to feel wanted by someone, to feel like I was doing something right. It’s been so hard since….I’m so sorry.” Ward paused, eyes staring straight up at the ceiling, his voice all choked up. “I didn’t want to do that to you and Simmons but he gave me no choice. You don’t know what it’s like. Garrett could be so cruel and ruthless, just completely break you down yet when he praised you, it was like...all the best feelings rolled into one. I’d do anything to get that feeling.” Ward rubbed at his eyes, his posture deflated. Fitz moved in close, hugging him from behind. He wasn’t sure what to say, but Fitz knew from experience simply being there, just listening, helped.

“I miss him. I didn’t get to say even say my respects, say goodbye,” continued Ward, his voice tight and scratchy. “I know he was a terrible man and did awful things. The things he made me do... But Garrett was all I had. He rescued me from juvie, did you know that? Now he’s gone and I’ve got nothing but a giant mess of enemies and regrets.” Ward laughed, a stark, empty sound. He thumbed at the terrible scar at his wrist. “Everyone wants me dead. I s’pose I deserve that, after everything. Today, with you... was a little break from that all that.”

“Aw, Grant,” said Fitz softly. He went to kiss the back of his neck, but Ward jerked away. 

“I don’t need your pity.” stated Ward, standing up. “None of it matters anyway. Emotions cloud focus. No, what we need is breakfast.” 

Apparently the special meeting that Ward had arranged was tomorrow evening, so the two boys spent the day at the motel. Strangely, Fitz found himself not minding his captivity. It wasn’t like he was doing anything useful back at the base, at least here he could spend time unravelling the mystery known as Grant Ward - not that the man made it easy. After his emotional confession, Ward seemed to close in on himself, staying quiet and keeping busy with exercises or tapping away on the laptop. 

Fitz had little to occupy himself except for watching the Dr Who DVDs that he was so thoughtfully supplied with. That and watching Ward workout. The man had an insanely fit body. Maybe if he wasn’t so attracted to Ward, he might regret or feel anxious about his first time with a guy. But right now, Fitz didn’t care.

The day turned to night and Fitz eventually got ready for bed. He slipped in between the sheets and looked over at Ward, sitting at the table in a pool of light. He was still absorbed in his laptop; a wall of silence loomed between them. Fitz was unsure how to proceed, Ward was so complicated and this whole situation was bizarre. He reflected on what Ward had told him this morning. It was like Ward was an AI program that had lost its command protocols and needed new directives to handle all the incoming variables. Maybe with Garrett gone, he just needed structure, orders. Something familiar to pull his world back into orbit again.

“Ward, come to bed,” said Fitz, deciding on a direct approach. 

Ward looked up from his laptop. There was a brief pause, his face unreadable. But then he switched off his computer and then the lights, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Fitz swallowed nervously when Ward began to make his way to the bed, all sexy swagger and a trail of clothes behind him. It was as though walking around nude was second nature for him.

His pulse racing, Fitz couldn’t deny wanting a repeat of their hookup this morning. But he didn’t want a one-sided affair either. He wanted the real Ward, not a put-on facade that Ward thought was required of him.

Ward climbed on to the bed, his eyes hungry and cock hard with intent. He leaned in to kiss Fitz.

“W-wait a sec.” managed Fitz in between kisses. Ward ignored him, his hand slipping into Fitz’s briefs. Electric pleasure thrilled down his cock when he felt the other man grasp his length. His hips pressed back against Ward, involuntarily. 

Fitz caught Ward’s hands, stilling them. “I don’t want it to be just about me, what I want. What do you want?”

“I want you,” murmured Ward. He didn’t try to free his hands, instead he kissed and nuzzled at Fitz’s neck. 

Fitz let a moan, his skin prickling. “No...oh god - just stop!” He pushed Ward off him, and rolled on top of the man and pinned his hands down with his own. Or rather, Ward let him. Despite their difference in size and strength, Ward didn’t even try to break free.

Fitz stared into Ward’s dark eyes, moving his head away when the other man tried to kiss him. “No. No kisses, no engines starting, no pistons firing, none of that. Garage is closed until you tell me what grinds your gears.” 

Ward burst out laughing. “The garage hey? That’s a new one.”

Fitz hid his grin by nipping along Ward’s jaw. 

“Mmhmm! Ah! Alright, alright...” Ward paused for a moment, considering. “I want...my car to be stolen and driven….driven right to the edge by a daredevil driver. Rough gear changes, burning rubber, the works.”

“It’s sexy when you talk like a proper greasemonkey,” murmured Fitz, stalling for time. Did Ward mean that he wanted it rough, that he wanted to be passive?

Ward shifted underneath Fitz, opening his thighs to him. “Just take me, Fitz.”

Fitz didn’t need to be asked twice. He scooted off Ward and pushed the covers off the bed. He took a moment to stare at the other man, to fully take in his fine form. He was just so beautiful, there was no other word to describe him.

Ward winked at him, a smirk forming on his lips. Fitz shoved at him, rolling him on his stomach, bare ass nicely exposed. Some lube and a couple hasty strokes of his cock later, he had himself lined up against Ward’s entrance and began to slowly push himself in.

Ward gasped at the intrusion. Fitz immediately froze. 

“Don’t stop,” gasped Ward, an arm covering his face.

Fitz thrust right into him, and began to find a solid pace. Such an exquisite vice-like tightness around his prick. He couldn’t tell if the sounds Ward was making was from pleasure or pain. The man wanted rough treatment, Fitz told himself, trying not to feel guilty. He tried pushing Ward’s head down into the pillows while he continued to drill into that tight ass. The man moaned into the pillow, and arched his back, seemingly turned on, not hurt.

Fitz wiped at his sweaty brow. This was a man who jumps out of planes and fights assassins, he obviously needs a bigger thrill. He had to take it up a notch. 

Fitz spotted something on the floor and got an idea. “Turn over,” he ordered. Fitz snatched a belt off the floor, as Ward turned on to his back. 

“Ready for it?” he asked, brandishing the belt. 

Ward chuckled. “Giving me the strap? Do your worst.”

Fitz shot him a look. “Oh, you laugh now.” He fought back apprehensive thoughts and slipped the belt around Ward’s neck in a threaded loop, wrapping the end tight around his fist. A move inspired from a porno he’d stumbled on. 

Fitz froze abruptly. The fantasy was now reality; no turning back now. He locked eyes with Ward, his gaze a silent question.

“I trust you,” said Ward softly.

That just set Fitz off. They were a tangle of sweaty limbs and hungry mouths. Ward lay beneath him, those sexy muscles of his bunching up and tensing in time with Fitz’s thrusts. He kept the belt pulled taut, but not too tight. 

“Harder!” grunted Ward, his face flushed deep red and dripping with sweat. 

Fitz tugged the belt hard with all his strength. Ward moaned, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure despite his neck and face turning almost purple. He stroked Ward’s cock at a furious pace, all the while slamming himself into that tight heat. They stared at each other, naked emotions coming to the fore, almost as though an unspoken communication passed between them. A sort of dialogue of trust and vulnerability; a kind of tenderness beneath all the rough sex. All the things they couldn’t give voice to. Ward daring - no, hoping - that Fitz would still accept him. It was both breathtaking and nerve-wracking.

Ward cried out one last time, white hot cum spurting out between their chests. It was so arousing. Fitz’s own orgasm boiled up within him, taking him by surprise, shuddering out his own load. He fell down on the other man, his body twitching as bliss overwhelmed him. Felt like electricity was sparking over his nerves. 

“Oh god,” mumbled Fitz weakly, face buried in a pillow. His heart was pounding so hard, like it was going to explode out of his chest. 

“Mmm….Wow. Would have thought auto-asphyxiation is outside your wheelhouse.”

“It is. It’s your fault….somehow.” Fitz nibbled along Ward’s ear. ”Didn’t even know there was a name for it. ”

Ward chuckled. “I know names for a couple of other things. But I’d have to show you.”

“You better.”


	4. Selene

Ward had set up the meeting with his mysterious contact for the following evening, at a flashy jazz club. It looked perfectly ordinary, except for the lack of customers. Perhaps that had something to do with the pair of burly security guards stationed outside. They did not look friendly. 

Ward turned to Fitz before they went inside, his eyes wide and worried. “Selene’s very powerful mutant who can manipulate people’s minds, take their life force and capable of other shit you wouldn’t believe if I told you. Garrett told me she’s a lot older than she appears. Whatever happens, let me do the talking. Selene makes Hydra look like Little League.”

He wondered just how bad Selene could be, to get Ward this jumpy. “Got it. You’re Tintin, I’m Snowy,” said Fitz, nodding. 

Ward gave him a puzzled look and approached the guards. “Brought a present for your mistress. She might have heard of a Caravaggio that’s been stolen.” One of the guards spoke to someone on his bluetooth, the other frisked Ward, then Fitz for any hidden weapons.

“She will meet with you,” said the first guard. 

Inside the jazz club was empty except for staff. A bartender avoided eye contact as they passed. The dark red and gold decor was dimly lit, but the stage was bathed in light. A pianist accompanied a single husky voiced singer, performing for one sole woman, who was drinking alone at her booth. 

Fitz followed Ward to the woman’s table. Selene was an exotically beautiful young woman, pale with jet black hair and predatory dark eyes that glittered as they assessed them both.  
“Grant! You’ve brought a friend. Please, take a seat,” said Selene. She had a slight accent Fitz couldn’t place and her voice covered each syllable with velvet caresses. 

Fitz fidgeted nervously in his seat. He didn’t like her staring at him. It was like being in a room full of bees and praying they didn’t land on you.

“Why isn’t Garrett here? Where is he?” she asked.

Ward swallowed. “He’s ah...dead. Um. How are you this evening?”

Selene leaned back and laughed delicately. “Me? I’m fabulous, darling. Just look at me. That’s a pity about Garrett though.” The smile faded from her face. “He had his uses. Have you brought my tribute?”

“Of course,” said Ward, unfurling the rolled painting on the table. “Your Caravaggio.”

Selene’s fingers delicately swept over the canvas. “Exquisite,” she murmured softly. 

“Of course, a beautiful painting for a beautiful lady,” said Ward.

“Your charms will not work on me. Do not test me,” snapped Selene frostily. 

“I speak only the truth, see for yourself,” said Ward, offering his palm to her.

Selene sighed and waved him off. “What is your request?”

“My friend Fitz here. I need to you to restore his mind - if you can.”

“Of course I can. The mind is a complex instrument and I’m the Paganini without peer. But how will you pay for such a service?”

Fitz glanced at Ward and then Selene. “But wasn’t that painting payment? Wha-”

“Ignore him,” said Ward, cutting Fitz off. He stretched out his arm again. “If you restore him, you can take what you like from me.”

Selene seemed to consider his offer. “I don’t feed off humans, only mutants. But perhaps there is some use for you.” Her gaze locked on Fitz. “Your hand.”

Fitz looked at Ward, uncertain. Ward nodded at him, pressing his thigh close against Fitz’s leg, underneath the table. Inhaling deeply, Fitz gingerly gave his hand to Selene. 

What she did to him, whatever it was that she did, it was like being in the passenger seat of his mind, and Selene the driver. Memories flashed by like pages of flickerbook. It was disorientating and unnerving. But it was over as quickly as it began, leaving Fitz feeling drained and lethargic.

Selene released his hand, and ran a hand through her glossy jet black hair. She smiled a wolfish smile at Ward and extended her hand towards him. “Your hand, if you please. I will take Garret from you and any other memories I deem useful.”

Fitz wanted to slap Ward’s hand away. It was too high a price, he wasn’t worth it. He wanted to beg Selene to ask for something else, anything else. But the words died in his throat. Everything was already set in motion. Instead he grabbed Ward’s free hand, hoping he’d find some small comfort while the terrifying Selene pillaged his mind. 

Ward squeezed his hand, his posture rigid and tense. 

“And I’m done.” Selene released Ward’s hand, and took a sip of her champagne. “You boys may leave now.”

Ward got up and stormed out of there at a rapid pace. 

Fitz scuttled after him, trying to keep up. “Ward! Wait up! Are you alright?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” muttered Ward, shoving at the exit doors.

“Ward!” Fitz hurried after him, reaching him at the car. The man was having trouble with the car door, too upset to focus. “Grant, just look at me for a second.”

Ward stopped fumbling with the keys and looked up. Fitz locked eyes with him. His dark eyes looked so haunted. It made his heart ache, he couldn’t begin to imagine what Ward was going through right now. 

“Thank you,” he said, softly. “I really mean it.”

Ward nodded stiffly, his expression tense and taunt. Fitz pressed in close, standing on his tiptoes to kiss the other man chastely. 

Ward jerked away, eyes darting around. “Not here. I can’t.”

Back at the hotel room, they went to bed early. Fitz’s mind might be restored but he still felt drained from whatever Selene had done to him. He wasn’t sure if Ward was tired as well, or just joined him in bed to avoid conversation.

But he spoke to Fitz in other ways. The way he clung so tight to Fitz, head resting on Fitz’s chest. He lay there so still, just staring out into the darkness, while the tears silently trickled out. Fitz started running his hand through Ward’s hair, letting him know he wasn’t alone, that he was here. He knew the terrible personal cost Ward had paid. 

Eventually, his awareness dimmed and Fitz fell asleep.


	5. Rescue

There was distant, repetitive thudding sound. Fitz snapped his eyes open. Daylight. The side of the bed next to him was cold, and more importantly, empty. Where was Ward? Fitz propped himself up, rubbing at his eyes. Ward’s gear was gone from the room. The thudding noise was getting closer. Sounded like broken wood, multiple footsteps. Someone was kicking in doors in the hotel.

Alarmed, Fitz dragged himself up off the bed. Then he noticed it; a little note on the night stand. In neatly penned script it read, 

“Fitz

I’m sorry, had to call them, you belong with them. And thank you. It was real for me. All of it, with you. 

Grant”

Fitz frowned. Blood pounded in his skull and his chest suddenly felt tight. He couldn’t have just left. Why didn’t he stay? Or least say goodbye? 

The door broke open, splintered wood flying everywhere. Agent May burst inside, gun raised. 

“What the hell-” spluttered Fitz.

May ignored him, her eyes darting around the room. “Got Fitz. Room’s clear. No sign of Ward. Search the hotel perimeter.” Her attention flicked to Fitz. “Do you need medical?”

“No! I’m fine! And there’s no need to search any perimeters. Ward helped me. He’s good, not- Stop that, let me go!”

May didn’t really listen to his protests. Neither did any of the team when Fitz was taken back to base. Their self-righteous minds were made up, and couldn’t see Ward other than pure evil, like he was some kind of cartoon villain. So Fitz kept the full details of their brief relationship to himself, they wouldn’t understand. It would be just yet another reason for them to stare at him with those awful, pitying looks. Poor, naive Fitz. Ward really did a number on you. They could scarcely believe his recovery, how could they take his word on Ward?

Fitz began to search for Ward in secret. He was determined to see him again, one day. It was his turn to save him, Ward needed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly a huge thank you to Carlo for beta-ing! This wouldn't have been readable if not you!
> 
> I chose Caravaggio because he paints brutal religious paintings, not sure if the Vatican actually owns one. I’ve seen some artworks by Caravaggio in person, they are often huge and have such presence. There is strong evidence that the Vatican was involved with coverups regarding stolen Jewish owned masterpieces during the Holocaust. Many of these have spread to private owners and museums all over the world :(
> 
> Stockholm Syndrome is a legit condition. Basically it’s when your kidnapped/captured and you fall for your captors/their ideology etc. 
> 
> [ Selene](http://www.comicvine.com/selene/4005-2176/) is a real Marvel character. More info on her is found here. I took creative liberties with her. Not a comic book nerd, sorry. :( Send me to the firing squad for that, I deserve it lolz
> 
> Selene mentioned Paganini. [Niccolo Paganini](http://www.biography.com/people/niccol%C3%B2-paganini-21196451) was a violinist that played so well people said he sold his soul to the devil. Very famous. 
> 
> The sequence thing and other tech talk was completely made up. My engineering knowledge/understanding is zilch so I hope I conveyed enough for readers to use their imagination to fill in the blanks.
> 
> I only speak english, apologies if there was mistakes with the french/spanish. I used google translate. La petite mort - is the french for “The Little Death” their term for orgasm.
> 
> [Link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JATb7e8zgyo) to Mr Bad Guy, I feel it really fits Grant Ward.
> 
> I will concede to speeding up the timeframe of the developing relationship between the two guys. In terms of psychology, its maybe not as realistic as it could be, and there’s a few spots that the writing doesn’t work that well for me. But on the other hand, I can’t write out a long drawn out novel with properly fleshed out characters/relationships/perfect conversations coz I’m a slow writer and busy and etc. Some parts were very easy to write, other parts, I was struggling sentence by sentence. So this is what you get, or no fic at all. Apologies for not delivering best possible fic in that way. 
> 
> Please feel free to come stalk my [tumblr.](http://moodycactus.tumblr.com/) or leave feedback in comments. Sequel to this fic is linked below :)


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